


Hold a Place for Me

by rivlee



Series: All the Difference [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diona has found a new life here, east of the Rhine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold a Place for Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** As this a fic that touches on Diona’s past, mentions of rape and non-con are present.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the Starz television series _Spartacus_. No disrespect or harm is meant or intended.

There was a time when Diona knew what it was liked to be touched in affection, in love, with caring hands and kind intent. She grew-up safe, even as a slave, always knowing protection as a child of a trusted house-slave and one of the gladiators. Her mother died before she was ever able to ask the name of her father, and yet still, Diona was raised as something precious with a sister in Naevia, another slave-girl equally cared for and often doted on by their elder master. She could never imagine the wickedness that lived within the souls of the younger Batiatus and his wife; would never dream of being a pawn in one of their games. She was completely innocent, never even knowing the first blush of love or touch, when she was taken and used as appeasement and enticement for possible rich patrons and their influence. In one moment everything she knew as security, thought of as home, was shattered. 

Even Naevia, once the dearest thing in the very world to her, became an object of resentment. She remained protected where Diona was used, over and over again, forced under the smell, hold, and rough handling of gladiators, male slaves, and Romans. In the end, Naevia was also her salvation. No one would ever expect the quiet girl, who always knew when to drop her eyes and look the other way, of stealing someone’s coin. It was chance, or perhaps Fortuna’s blessing, that saw Diona out of Capua before capture. She bartered, traded, paid sometimes in coin and others in body, to get out of Rome. She worked where she could, having the admirable skill of knowing well how to clean a room. She was lucky to bear no mark or brand which cast her as slave. Many just thought her a runaway daughter of some merchant’s family. If there was thing from that fucking house Diona praised, it was their education of the house slaves. Diona spoke as well as any free Roman and could read and write most of the letters. 

She learned the hard way how to become her own person; how to survive on her own free from any guiding hand. It led her in to the wild, to the uncharted lands of Gaul where she traveled with a nomadic group eager to see the world beyond Rome’s reach. It was just across the Rhine when she found a new home. A small village willing to pay in housing, meat, and fur for a tutor capable of translating with the traders and teaching the basics of Latin. 

The people east of the Rhine spoke in a tongue that sounded harsh to Diona’s ears at first, though it intrigued her. She learned as she taught and soon found herself trading bawdy tales and sacred songs with ease before two years were out. 

She met Saxa by her third year with the clan, her fourth year away from Capua, and found her world forever changed. Saxa was the same age Diona was when her life went from joy to destruction. Saxa was a brutal girl, feral, proudly from the harsh lands to the north full of ice. She was blunt about her intensions, lacking the artifice Diona knew from Rome. She swore to win Diona’s heart one day and Diona, forever underestimating the power of vows to the people she know lived amongst, laughed it off as the words of a girl infatuated with someone who was different. 

Lugo, one of the smiths who always had a smile and a story for her, was the first to tell her it was more than a childish crush. 

“You watch,” he warned her, “once Saxa has her majority she will pursue you with full force.”

Diona laughed as she sorted through the bits of metal beads and broaches Lugo sold when steel arms weren’t required. “There is little I can offer to a barbarian princess. Even if her infatuation does not fade, I am sure her parents will steer her choice elsewhere.”

Lugo shook his head. “Saxa knows her heart and she desires to know yours as well. She cares as much for her chieftain’s concern as a mare does for balls.”

Diona hid her smile behind her hand at Lugo’s words. He had a way with the language that was impossible not to admire. She held up a set of beads that looked like a winged cat. “This is interesting.”

“For Freya and her winged chariot,” Lugo said. “It would make a good gift.”

Diona appreciated the teasing hint. She could well see it in Saxa’s mess of golden hair. It was rarely kept smooth and often reminded Diona of a lion’s mane. She picked up another bead bearing a skull. That would suit Saxa, already a blooded and praised hunter, very well.

She handed them to Lugo. “I purchase these only as gifts for her upcoming celebration. I am certain you have more pressing matters than meddling in other’s love lives.”

“I would see smiles grace your lips always,” Lugo said. He waved off Diona as she went for her coin purse. “Your lessons have saved me more coin than I can ever charge you for.”

“Gratitude,” Diona said as she patted Lugo’s face. 

 

*********************

Diona approached Saxa on the day of her celebration first. She felt it was best to make intentions clear in private rather than cause them both embarrassment in public. She found her at the river side, growling at her hair in frustration. 

“I’ve brought some oil to smooth it down,” Diona said as she approached. “And some gifts to add to its beauty.” She cupped Saxa’s cheeks. “All girls should feel so powerful on the day of their transition.”

Saxa leveled her with a cool gaze. “Let you still spurn my affections.”

Diona nodded. “You are young, Saxa, and though fierce, still new to this life. I have seen and experienced things I pray you never witness. I do not doubt how you feel, only if its intensity will fade once you’ve seen more of this world. Despite appearance, I am not a tender lamb in need of a wolf to guide or devour me.”

“I never thought you such,” Saxa claimed. “There is a deadliness in your eyes that speaks of past crimes.”

Such words from Saxa were akin to a love token from anyone else. Diona smiled as she worked through Saxa’s hair, smoothing and sorting the strands until they shone. She once did this task by order, a requirement of her position; it was a pleasant change to do it for choice. 

Saxa’s shoulders hunched in, as if she was drawing into herself, a lacking of bravado she so often wore like a cloak. It was a gift, the sign of weakness, the familiarity borne of their little talks and instruction. Diona taught Saxa Latin and Saxa taught her how to use a dagger. Saxa still refused to speak in anything other than her people’s Common Tongue and Diona still preferred handling cloth to weapons. They’d taught each other skills required for necessity of a world where Rome kept venturing beyond its limits. It did not mean they had to revel in those new skills. 

Diona hummed a lullaby of old, one she used to sing with Naevia, as she wove the beads into Saxa’s hair. She nodded in approval once she was done. They held well in the thick strands and swayed easily with each movement of Saxa’s head.

“They suit you,” Diona said. 

Saxa’s long fingers grasped the beaded and braided strands. “A gift I shall keep and cherish.”

Diona grinned. “They best still be there when you return. You seek your father’s village with the dawn, yes?”

Saxa nodded. “I spent my last year away as a girl. I shall return to them as woman before following my own path.”

She sounded scared and there was a vulnerability in her eyes. Diona knew it wasn’t easy to keep a brave face when inside you were barely holding it together. Saxa had to be worried about her future, what was to come with her position, if she would be forced into marriage. Diona did not envy her. She knew now that even with freedom, there was still much lack of choice. 

She pressed a soft kiss to Saxa’s forehead. “You will survive all that is to come. You are a fighter, Saxa, a true warrior if I’ve ever met one. You just need more time to grow. If you return to our small village here, I will be the first to greet you with wide arms and an open smile. If the Fates fall against us, I will wish you well for whatever path you must follow.” She held her hand out. “Come, there is a massive feast in your honor. You should be present for it.”

Saxa took her hand and held on to it as they walked back to the village center. It reminded Diona of other walks, with Naevia at her side, though wholly different in the most important ways. 

“Diona?” Saxa asked as she hesitated at the boundary fence of wooden spikes. 

There was a question asked with her body, one Diona knew she was afraid to voice for fear of rejection. Diona remembered, with only a slight bitterness, what it was like to be so young and eager for all of life’s pleasure. Her first kiss was not a hesitant touch of lips done with the burning of desire in her belly as soft breath fanned over her skin. It was a rough bite as blood filled her mouth and tears dripped from her eyes. 

If there was one kindness Diona could give, it was this one. 

She cupped Saxa’s jaw in her hands, aware of the power she held, the trust Saxa placed in her for letting her this close to her body. She watched as Saxa’s tensed, her breaths speeding in repetition, could feel the pulse thumping in her neck. A blush had already started to stain her cheeks even as she closed her eyes, out of fear of ridicule, or a need for control, Diona could not discern. 

She smiled before lowering her head to meet Saxa’s lips. A chaste kiss, quick, but with affection and kindness behind it. Saxa gasped in surprise, almost swayed, and Diona held her steady, slowly pulling back to revel in the pleased smile that graced Saxa’s face. 

“Gratitude,” Saxa said in rough-accented Latin. 

Diona shook her head at the cheek before leading Saxa by the hand back into the village. She knew there were no promises between them, no vows spoken, yet Diona felt the faint flame of hope stirring in her breast again. It was a feeling she once thought forever lost. Perhaps Saxa was not the long one to start a journey to a new life this evening.


End file.
